Perfect Loser
by Candybook
Summary: Despite leading an ordinary life, she was possibly the most awkward, klutzy, and insane person in Namimori history. "Who are you supposed to be? The class clown or the class idiot?" GokuderaxOC Gokudera/OC 59OC
1. Starting Point

**Disclaimer:** **I do not own ****Katekyō Hitman Reborn!**

**A/N: This is the product of me getting struck by sudden inspiration on a late Saturday night. And when something like that happens, I get a sudden urge to write. **

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**Chapter One**

**Starting Point**

At precisely half past six, on a warm evening, in a beautiful town setting, I messed around with the wrong people and paid for it.

Ah, introductions, introductions.

Sorry, almost forgot. You guys are probably wondering who's narrating the story.

I guess I'll start by telling you that I (the narrator) may not be your most sensible person on the planet. If there's one thing you'd need a heads-up about, it would be that. During the course of my aging, I've done many things that were considered unusual among the world population. Examples of such include responding to certain situations in a way the common man wouldn't respond, and saying things the common man wouldn't normally say. Due to this, I've been frequently called the epitome of weirdness, or more plainly, an oddball.

For people who actually found these tendencies of mine hilarious, I was known as a **cl**assic **cl**ass **cl**own.

Hurray for alliterations.

In any case, my name is Miyamura Yue. I'm your average junior high school student with a not so hot average on my report card.

And right now I am currently being pursued by a gang of violent strangers whose present goal is to beat the living daylights out of me.

How in the world did I get myself into this situation, you ask.

It's very simple.

Let's rewind a bit.

— — — — —

**A Few Minutes Ago: **

"That will be 3900 yen."

I grimly watched the numbers add up on the register. The red digits were flashing with an intensity akin to neon lights. Discounts or not, total sums made a painful image, especially when you were close to being broke.

I reached into my pocket to grab my wallet, but instead of touching solid mass, I was greeted by an unfriendly emptiness. My fingers instantly halted in mid-search.

_It's not here? _

I gave myself a round of thorough pats, beginning from the bottom of my jeans up to my polo shirt. The inspection spurred more disappointment, and my sheer absence of money became clear. As I ogled the greedy looking screen in front of the cashier blinking 3900 yen, I suddenly realized that I must have crammed the thing in my other pair of pants, not this one.

The cashier grew suspicious at my extensive silence.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

_Yeah—there is. _

"I think I left my wallet at home," I said.

He frowned at my assertion, tilting to glance at the long line of shoppers behind me impatiently.

"Well, that is very unfortunate."

This no doubt qualified as one of the worst 'shopping at the supermarket' experiences I've ever had in the few short years of my uninteresting life. Trust me, filling your shopping cart, waiting in line for half an hour, and then discovering you don't have the necessary cash on you when it's finally your turn on the check-out desk was not a very likable feeling. It was almost as bad as the time I accidentally got into a heated argument with a college student over the last box of ramen in the "instant foods" section.

I walked away from the line, practically feeling everyone's stares drilling holes into my back. Once out of the supermarket, I hit myself for being careless.

So much for stocking up on cheap food. And today was the final sales day for the month.

I sauntered down the block resignedly. Halfway into my stride, I caught sight of a short-looking boy backing away anxiously from a tall figure. They planted themselves smack in the middle of the sidewalk, effectively blocking the path. At first, I thought the two were related, and that they were just having one of those friendly sibling quarrels, but I started to doubt this when my ears picked up on their dialogue exchange.

"Hie! I-I'm sorry!" the smaller boy croaked.

Whatever he was apologizing for, the dude greater in height did not seemed satisfied.

"You think 'sorry' is going to cut it? This shirt was new. You're gonna have to pay for it."

_Shirt? _

I shortened the distance between myself and them, and immediately noticed the wet stain spreading near the bigger guy's waist.

A dropped water bottle rolled at his feet.

_Ah, I get it. _

So this must be one of those _'innocent kid bumping into thug and dirtying thug's clothing, therefore causing thug to get mad and pick a fight' _situations.

I nodded in agreement with myself. Yep. Yep. Definitely.

Mr. Bully gave a fierce glare and grabbed onto the front of the spiky haired boy's collar. He growled and raised a clenched fist. His victim squeaked.

_Whatever happened to world peace?_

The flag of justice glimmered in my head. Needless to say, conscience would not let me walk away without doing anything. I was seized by an indescribable urge to advance from spectator to participant.

Morality chose the strangest moments to cajole you into taking action.

I quickly went up to them and clapped my hands for acknowledgement.

Putting on a casual expression, I said, "Don't be so upset. He didn't mean to. I'm sure there is a better way to settle this like talking it over."

The bully stared at me with a scowl.

I maintained my smile, despite my involuntary flinch. "Anyway, there's no need to get so angry over something like this. Right? I mean, at least it wasn't coffee. It's just water, it'll dry."

I was about to continue showing off my very professional compromising skills but stopped upon feeling a dangerous sensation. Perspiration ran down my neck as five more delinquents stepped into the scene.

Why do gang members always have to travel in packs?

Suddenly, all that attention shifted from the boy with chestnut hair to me. It was amazing how quickly bullying victims could change. It did not even require that much provocation.

They got into instant sentai formation, the lead delinquent in front and his five friends behind him. One of them started cracking his knuckles to create a threatening atmosphere. The other four held. . .weapons?

Okay, it was one thing if they were unarmed, but it was completely different if they had pocket knifes, flails, and a GUN!

_Not our average delinquents, are you? _

I totally wasn't expecting this.

"You have a lot of guts, kid. Are you trying to pick a fight?"

I swallowed.

_Gee, no, you are the ones wanting a fight. I'm just the good innocent civilian with the desire to try to help out a guy who's being picked on._

"Haha. Maybe she knows him?" one subordinate suggested. He flipped his knife nonchalantly.

As they inched forward, I inched backward.

I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking that since I so thoughtlessly went up to a gang of thugs without the slightest concern for emotions like fear, it means that at any point now, I'm going to unleash some kind of supernatural power or show off some very remarkable fighting techniques.

I must admit that would be awesome, but sadly, I am not equipped with such fortune.

It wasn't long before I did the most common thing a defenseless protagonist would do in a shounen manga.

I broke off into a magnificent run.

— — — — —

Annnnnd that's how I ended up here.

"Come back here! We're not finished with ya yet!"

"Yeah! You think you can just back out of this?"

Their flying threats merely served as more encouragement for escape. I gasped, racing along the pavement.

Running never felt so strenuous.

Where can I find one of those convenient walls where you can plaster yourself against and pretend to be camouflaged?

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**A/N:** First chapter makes for a strange start, but it will improve. ;)


	2. Home Sour Home

**Disclaimer: I do not own ****Katekyō Hitman Reborn!**

**A/N: Thank-you to everyone who reviewed! =D I appreciate it a lot.**

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**Chapter Two **

**Home Sour Home **

There was no wall, but there _was_ a girl—one eating pudding and humming to herself.

But alas, girls cannot substitute for walls.

Woe is me.

Finding an obstacle blocking your path while you're on the run is the worst case scenario. I can now relate to how those game characters in video games feel when they run into dead ends. And here I thought I had chosen a clear street, too.

"Make way, make way, make way!" I projected this emergency warning as soon as I saw her. I assumed my warning came through with enough time to spare. Sadly, this was an erroneous assumption.

She just gaped, frozen like a mouse in the middle of the road.

The sight of her eyes enlarging to the size of apples indicated that she was having difficulty adjusting to the urgent state of affairs.

I feverishly assembled what little air I had left for oral communication, hoping to issue another alert. Nevertheless, since we were both trying to talk at once, what should have been a simple command and question turned into some kind of verbal disruption contest where we took turns interrupting each other's sentences.

"…Please…" I began.

"H-Hahi! What's—" She choked.

"…move…"

"—going—"

"…out…"

"—on—"

"…of the way!" I hollered.

She must have processed my message subconsciously. At the very last second, she sidestepped, evading what would have been a painful accident.

Too bad the same didn't go for her pudding. Apparently, the strong gust radiating off those stampeding thugs hot on my trail lead to its demise. I could only imagine the poor dessert was now splattered on concrete, pudding guts no more than a beautiful dream evaporated on a sunny day.

"H-Hahi! Haru only took one bite!" I heard her exclaim.

"Sorry! The next time I see you, I'll treat you to orange juice!" I called over my shoulder.

Wow, I sounded like I was trying to hit on her.

I highly doubted we'd meet again; hence, the reason for my generous offer. The same went for that spiky haired guy I had unwisely decided to help.

This event would be carved into memory, though.

— — — — — —

The moon was out by the time I arrived (finally) at my place of residence—a run-of-the-mill medium-sized apartment located on the third floor of a similarly unremarkable building. Although not the most luxurious place to live in, the simple dwelling was more than enough to house two ordinary people—those two being my uncle and I.

"I'm back," I called, twisting the doorknob.

I found my uncle perched in front of the dining table, immersing himself in a magazine. I believe its title was 'Top Rated Beauty Products; The Shampoo You Can't Survive Without.'

"Ah, welco—home?"

My uncle unwisely chose to poke his head up from his object of focus instead of simply giving me an absentminded hand wave. As a result, he was treated to a very flattering picture of his one and only niece clad in a costume of decaying food and refuse.

I pulled a banana peel off my head, entered the apartment, and shut the door behind me.

"You look like you just took a walk into a garbage can and back," he said.

_That's an excellent guess. _

"I did."

He raised a curious eyebrow.

"I ran into some trouble."

"Really? And what was that?" he asked.

I brushed a fish skeleton off my shoulder. "Delinquents."

"Delinquents," he repeated incredulously.

"You got it. The kinds who won't stop chasing after you for interfering with their bullying hobbies until you hop into the nearest dumpster and out of sight."

"Yue, are you trying to be funny?"

"Of course not."

"I hope you aren't thinking I'll accept that silly explanation."

"Call it silly if you want, but I just told it like it happened. In a nutshell."

"Right. And the groceries?"

I turned my pockets inside out. "Forgot my wallet."

He gave a sigh of surrender, snapping his magazine closed. "Honestly, what am I going to do with you?"

Although I lived with my uncle, we don't see each other on a regular basis. Today was actually his first visit back home after several weeks of absence. Some months ago, Uncle Kouichi had scored a job on the other side of town. In order to avoid spending hours on transportation in the mornings and nights, he usually stayed at my aunt's; her house was located much closer to the workplace.

I held out my hands in a gesture of apology and made a beeline for the kitchen. The last thing I remembered eating was an inadequate breakfast twelve hours ago; hunger was currently at its peak. Plus, that little adventure had been exhausting.

I barely took the first few steps when Uncle Kouichi shot up from his seat, eyes wide in a wonderful display of alarm.

Having grown accustomed to his expressive body language, I was clearly able to distinguish what his problem was even before he vocalized his complaint.

"WAIT just a minute! You are NOT coming in here like that," he declared.

"Can't I just grab something to eat first?"

"AFTER you get yourself cleaned up. We don't want an infestation in here. I just mopped the floors and cleaned the rooms today."

Say hello to my dear Uncle Kouichi, an adult infatuated with cleanliness and order. His idea of utopia is a world where everything follows a destined pattern. Objects must line up a certain way, details must read just right, and anything less must be corrected. In fact, the slightest disruption in this so-called essential balance would cause him to hyperventilate.

I suspect that he suffers from obsessive compulsive disorder, given his hysterical reactions to anything short of sanitary and organized. With his constant rituals of perfectionism, living under the same roof as him was quite stressful. We inescapably shared a bipolar uncle and niece relationship when it came to housekeeping; for any order he managed to establish for the apartment, I would end up canceling with my own dose of equal and opposite disorder.

Which would then make the apartment's conditions . . . neutral?

I wisely decided to avoid commencing an argument with him. I reckoned I still owed him some respect since his lack of presence at home has transformed him into something of a guest. My stomach would just have to wait.

I prepared to walk in the direction of my room for a new change of clothes when my eyesight perceived a rectangular object being tossed at my feet.

One look and my mouth opened in surprise.

". . . Are these my registration papers?" I asked.

"They sure are," Uncle Kouichi replied, tapping his fingers on his magazine.

"I was wondering where they had disappeared to."

"And what I'm wondering is why you left them in the freezer," he said.

His remark caused me to wrinkle my brow in puzzlement.

"I what where?"

"The freezer. I found them while I was clearing out the refrigerator today."

I stooped down and picked up the packet, aware that it was a bit damp. "Oh. I guess I must have mislaid them."

"Of all places, how in the world could they have ended up in the freezer?"

Yeah, how _did_ they end up there?

"I'm trying to remember. I guess it might have something to do with me getting distracted while attempting to multitask."

"You never cease to amaze me. If you hadn't noticed, the due date is drawing closer and closer. You should be more careful."

"I did noticed. I filled everything out already."

Giving the wad of papers a quick examination, I rejoiced that despite having been imprisoned for an eternity in an environment with temperatures below zero degrees, they had remained in a decent state.

"Well, I'll be leaving again tomorrow so you better take it upon yourself to avoid being late on your first day," he informed. "I won't be here to drag you out of bed."

"Roger."

"My name's Kouichi, you call me Uncle Kouichi."

"Roger, Uncle Kouichi."

"Drop the Roger, this isn't radio communications. But more importantly, please try not to make a mess out of the apartment while I'm gone!"

He should know better than to request that of someone who tosses important documents in the fridge.

I flipped the packet to the front side. The two words imprinted boldly across the top center were impossible to ignore.

_Namimori Middle. _

I can feel something coming. Something life-changing.

Or maybe that's just the discomfort caused by all that garbage.

I need a shower.

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**A/N: Sorry for the not KHR-ish chapter. X.X **


	3. Dignity Is Not That Important

**Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyō Hitman Reborn!**

**A/N: And we move onwards to the true introduction. ****Many thank-yous to all the reviewers! Your comments mean alot and I love hearing your thoughts! =) And thanks all readers for following me to this point! **

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**Chapter Three**

**Dignity Is Not That Important**

Sleep is defined as a period of inactivity where all your voluntary functions are temporarily stopped so that the body can self-repair. This vital process is largely responsible for our enhanced quality of living as well as making millions late for work, school, rendezvous, and so forth.

I sprang down the sidewalks wildly, my surroundings twisting in an inscrutable fusion of color. I only had around 16 minutes until the final bell, and according to my unimpressive math skills, I needed at least 20 minutes to reach my destination.

In all honesty, I blamed none other than my alarm clock. An unexpected malfunction had delayed its catastrophic scream to 7:30 when it should have resonated at 7:00. The glitch had to be part of a manufacturing conspiracy; alarm clocks were supposed to wake you up half an hour early, not late.

After suffering an unwarranted attack from a stray turtle, questioned by the police for provoking said stray turtle (who actually belonged to an odd individual holding a whip), tumbling into a bush, crashing into a telephone pole, and nearly getting run over by a truck, I finally made it to Namimori Middle.

My morning run for the sake of having an education has never been more life-threatening.

— — — — — —

"If it were a stray dog, I'd understand, but a turtle?" I mumbled, dragging myself up the stairs.

Nami-Middle looked just as I remembered it during orientation day. Its broad hallways stretched distantly from one end to another, generating an almost infinite expanse of polished floors. I marveled at the abundant space. Considering that the building's size beat my old school's twofold, I felt I was justified in such a reaction.

I peeked at my wristwatch through disheveled bangs.

7:45 A.M.

Whew. A new record.

I paced the corridors tentatively, my pupils scanning overhead signs for guidance. It would be a real shame if, after all that hard work of forcing my lungs to their max, I ended up going to the wrong location.

The target of my search turned up readily and I ceased movement.

_Class 1-A. _

_Hmm, matched the schedule, all right. _

I pushed back my bangs and poised my knuckles against the classroom door. My would-be teacher had already started roll call on the other side. I knocked. By exactly the third hit, he turned to confront his source of disruption. He gawped judgmentally as I waved an eager palm over the small window pane.

I winked, gave him a nice thumbs-up sign, and hoped he might interpret the colorful sign language as, "I'm here. Don't mark me absent."

Uncertainty suffocated his face. Then, very slowly, he nodded in mild understanding.

"Ahem. Everyone, it seems like the new transfer student has shown up after all." His muffled voice made it through audibly, since my ears were pressed against the door. "Uh...you can come in."

The number one rule to bear in mind when introducing yourself to a foreign crowd is to give a decent first impression. I opted to follow this rule, but as karma would have it, things will never go my way.

I made a loud, dynamic entry into the classroom by immediately tripping over a pencil lying _directly_ in my path. The loss of friction eventually sent me slamming into someone's desk, prompting them to glare at me with angry green eyes and curse madly. The painful impact did not end my ongoing battle for stability. I continued to lurch in multiple directions, only stopping when I maneuvered into the teacher's front table. I tried to use this second collision to regain verticalness, but my attempt spawned no success. As I descended to the floor, the unsteady table toppled over and I was subjected to more physical abuse when it crashed down on me, along with the textbooks sitting on top.

When I was finally allowed to rest in peace, sprawled in a pitiful heap, I became aware of a loud snickering coming from the front of the class. One snicker turned into two, and two turned to three, and eventually, the entire class had surrendered to fits of vivacious laughter.

This reaction was understandable, as I was probably the only transfer student in the history of transfer students to act like a complete fool upon entrance.

In the midst of all the snorting and cackling, I groggily made out one student saying to another, "Who's this? Another Dame Tsuna?"

That comment made no sense to me, and I was too busy trying to regain my wavering vision to care.

"My goodness, Miyamura! Are you all right?"

I groaned, struggling to get into a sitting position. The teacher frantically lifted his table off me.

"Pencil. Tripped. Floor. But yea, I'm all right," I answered him in broken fragments.

Once the teacher felt convinced that I was still an alive breathing human without any injuries that would require the assistance of an ambulance, he clapped his hands loudly.

"All right! Quiet down now, everyone," he commanded. "That's quite enough."

Reluctantly, the students worked to stifle their mirth toward my unintended comedy act. The teacher urged me to give an introduction—this time a proper one.

I put on a grin despite my newly acquired bruises, one of which was plastered painfully to my chin. Being the proud owner of a relaxed personality, my optimism was one of the few things I could boast about.

"Uh... greetings, ladies and gents. I'm Miyamura Yue. But you can just call me Yue. I hope to get along with all of ya," I said.

"Ladies and gents?" a girl whispered to her neighbor. "Who talks like that anyway?"

My instructor ignored the side comment. "Thank-you, Miyamura. You can take the seat next to Yamamoto in the second to back row."

I followed his pointed finger where a tall boy raised his hand.

I staggered over, earning myself a few scattered giggles on the way.

Mission _'give a decent first impression' _unaccomplished.

— — — — — —

The bell rang with a thunderous roar.

Lunch was legally in order.

I got to my feet boisterously, and began to make strange, incomprehensible motions with my arms.

Fear not if you are confused by my actions; I'll explain my reason for this peculiar display which came out of nowhere.

In between the last two periods, a creature notorious for its blood-sucking capabilities had invaded the room—the dreaded mosquito. For the past hour, it had been freely circulating my space and emitting less than musical sounds above my head. Of course, I made great effort to ignore it initially, but after putting up with the frustration for so long, the need to express my displeasure won over.

My flailing hands, the current equivalent of a fly swatter, continued to swipe at the air enthusiastically. I was aware that some people in the room were giving me weird looks. I paid no mind to them because apparently, they were not the ones being tormented by a taunting mosquito.

". . . What are you doing?"

I ceased my epic mosquito-scaring exercises at the sound of a question which I suspected was aimed at me. My hands remained poised in mid-flight as I turned to meet the curious face of a particular brunette.

If I heard right earlier, his name was Yamamoto. One thing was for sure, his voice somehow managed to ward off the persistent bug.

"A mosquito was bothering me," I said simply.

"A mosquito?"

"Yea."

Yamamoto's expression showed absolute cluelessness.

"It was a persistent one too. The thing wouldn't leave me alone but now, thanks to you, it has!" I elaborated, plastering on a smile.

"The mosquito?"

"Uh-huh."

"As in the insect?"

"Yeah."

"I convinced it to leave?"

"You bet."

"Oh."

"Yup."

Not the kind of first conversation I would expect to have with a classmate.

"So, you're Yamamoto if I remembered right."

The confusion on his face disappeared as I finally reached a topic that made sense.

"Yep. Yamamoto Takeshi. Er...Miyamura, right?"

I nodded, grinning. "True that. Let's have a good year, Takeshi."

Interestingly enough, he did not stiffen when I used his given name without permission; I had expected some form of cringing reaction. Throughout my school career, my habit of calling people by their first names has consistently been met by negative reactions such as discomfort, puzzlement, and embarrassment. I recalled the many times where I was actually told to stop with the familiarity.

Yamamoto stretched, rising from his seat. "So, I take it you're going to stay here for lunch?"

I shrugged. "I would, but I didn't bring anything today. By the way, is the cafeteria located on the west or east side of the building? I was told it's on the east, but I want to double-check."

"It _is _located on the east. Tsuna, Gokudera, and I are going to be heading down there too. If you're unsure, you can follow us."

"Tsuna and Gokudera?" I asked.

"Oi! Don't go deciding things for the Tenth on your own!"

A boy with silver tresses and green eyes stomped over, positioning himself next to Yamamoto. I vaguely recognized him as the guy whose desk I had slammed into earlier. I gave him a full once over. His hair and eye color combination was certainly noteworthy. I've never seen someone with hair of such shade.

I quickly made a self-comparison; unless a mutation occurs somewhere in my own family tree, the Miyamura generations to come will continue to demonstrate a set of dull physical traits.

I lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey there, fellow classmate. It's nice to meet ya."

Instead of responding, the newcomer narrowed his eyes sharply.

All I did was try to say hello and already he had decided that I was an enemy who needed to be rendered mute via a glare of death.

"Ahaha. This is Gokudera," Yamamoto explained cheerfully, lazily slinging an arm around the newcomer's shoulders.

"Get your hands off of me, you stupid baseball nut."

Yamamoto did not seem to have any qualms with his piercing reactions. "And Tsuna's over there," he said, gesturing to another occupant in the room. "Tsuna, you ready to head out?"

I followed Yamamoto's gaze to a different Namimori student who was shakily gathering his books. He whirled around to acknowledge Yamamoto's invitation and meekly walked over, head lowered.

Upon acquiring a closer view of his face, I squinted.

_Have we met somewhere before? _

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**A/N: ****To keep things less awkward to read, (and write) I think I'll have Yue only address the characters by their first names when she's speaking out loud/making direct thoughts. **

**Reviews of any kinds are appreciated. They will inspire me and make me write! =D **


	4. Process of Meeting New People

**Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyō Hitman Reborn! **

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, alerts, and favs as always! =) Here's chapter four! **

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Process of Meeting New People **

Sawada Tsunayoshi, also known as Tsuna for short.

I'm really, really shocked right now. My lungs have stopped working, my heart has skipped a beat (not due to love at first sight, but shock at first sight), and I'm just really, really, shocked.

Perhaps a kind soul can realize the severity of this shock and do something to help. Like, say, get an electric wire, charge it, and shock me physically so that I can get UNshocked mentally.

The workings of this thing we call a 'coincidence' is astounding. Watch as it proves me wrong in thinking I'd never see a particular someone again when obviously, I would.

If this were a romantic comedy show, our second encounter would look a little something along the lines of:

**Tsuna: **_(points)_ Hey! You're—

**Me:** _(also points)_ That's right! I met you that other time!

**Tsuna:** Wow, what a coincidence! So we go to the same school _and_ we're in the same class?

**Me:** I know, right! This must be fate!

_(Tsuna and I laugh, shake hands, become best friends, and all is well in the world) _

. . .

The key word here is IF. What actually happened was much more quiet, subtle, and nothing close. Tsuna had probably recognized me when I initially stepped into the classroom, so that lowered the level of enthusiastic surprise on his part. And I wasn't the type to shout or gasp in a dramatic fashion simply because I hadn't expected the unexpected. Thus, I merely gave Tsuna frozen eye contact for who knew how long until finally, Gokudera got annoyed and demanded that I look elsewhere.

_"Quit staring at the Tenth and keep your eyes to yourself,"_ was what he said.

— — — — —

As we made our way down to the cafeteria, Tsuna's friends learned that I was a random unknown he stumbled upon on the streets a few days back while he was in a bit of a conflict.

A very accurate recap.

Thankfully, we didn't expand on what that conflict was. I'd prefer not to have people I'd only just met find out that I had tried to be a knight with shining armor, only to run off at the last minute because I had _no_ armor.

Speaking with Tsuna treated me to a more detailed account of his personality. He was shy, easily nervous, and somewhat of an introvert. These traits were enticing, to say the least; I've met few people as soft-spoken as him.

Up close, Tsuna's appearance seemed even more fragile; he resembled those expensive porcelain tea sets you'd admire in an antique shop but never touch for fear that they'd shatter spontaneously upon physical contact.

I cannot help but observe that Tsuna, Yamamoto, and Gokudera made a remarkably diverse trio. The group consisted of a happy-go-lucky baseball player, a shrinking violet, and a professional mood swinger. This got me pondering how their very dissimilar attributes might have intertwined in the first place, and what fateful weight had been responsible for starting the domino effect. Or perhaps fluke did it?

Camaraderie building was a concept worthy of exploring.

Speaking of which, I wasn't doing half bad myself. I was getting along pretty well with these three . . . not counting one small exception.

Gokudera had spent the majority of the time pretending that I was invisible. When he did show any signs that I existed, it was in the form of angry glares and scowls.

What did I do to him in a past life to be on the receiving end of such hostility?

I'll admit I did crashed into his desk, but nobody was hurt. Well, _I_ was hurt, but I doubted his aggression had anything to do with that.

On a side note, Gokudera did appear to have an incredible ability to literally flip personalities and faces (hence, the name 'mood swinger') whenever it concerned Tsuna—also known as the Tenth for reasons I was oblivious of. These bipolar transformations proved to be very impressive, and I had to pinch myself to confirm I was not suffering visual hallucinations the first time I saw him exhibiting the behavior.

"Say, Miyamura," Yamamoto spoke up, drawing me from my musings. "Since you transferred schools, I'm assuming that you're new in town?"

I shook my head. "Nah. I've been here for years; I transferred because my old school's closing down."

"Closing down?"

"Yup. Poor thing's on its last legs. The building's planned to be demolished before the end of the year."

"D-Demolished?" Tsuna chipped in, the information capturing his interest.

I scratched the back of my head. "Yeah. I'm not sure if you've heard of Kawazoe Gakuen. It's located on the other side of town. I guess it's sort of like a combination of both an elementary and middle school. But the building is old, the conditions are bad, and the student population is small. Everyone knew what was coming."

"I-I see."

I could not blame Tsuna for staring at me like I had just said the strangest thing since astronauts landed on the moon. I don't think it's often transfer students arrive for reasons relating to a school shut-down.

I must be making history.

— — — — —

The lunchroom embraced us through a haze of noise.

A few self-proclaimed food servers poised at the front, steadily filling trays for kids standing before the countertop.

There were three different lines going on, probably to encourage speed and efficiency. I followed Yamamoto, Tsuna, and Gokudera to line number two. They talked amongst themselves while I shadowed behind them.

It was then that my mind trailed back to something that had been stirring my overactive curiosity since this morning. True, it didn't make much sense to me at first and dwelling upon the subject had not been my intent. But amid the teachers' tedious lectures and my lack of anything better to do while I was in class, I found myself in a state of inquisitiveness.

As the trio's conversation died down, I spoke up, "Not to be nosy or anything, but can I ask you something?"

Their attention shifted from personal musings to land on my uninvited voice.

"This is out of pure curiosity," I said, directing my words at the shortest of the group. "But this morning, I could have sworn I heard someone say 'Dame-Tsuna'. And your name is...well, Tsuna. Were they referring to you?"

Tsuna played with his fingers. "Umm... that's..."

Whatever Tsuna planned to say never followed through. In a flash, Gokudera stepped in front of me. The grey brows sitting above his eyes sloped downwards to portray infuriation.

"Hold it right there!" he shouted. "You just called the Tenth 'Dame', didn't you?"

I blinked. "Huh?"

"Attaching that word to the Tenth's name, who the hell do you think you are?"

All right, so maybe I should have left curiosity alone. After all, curiosity slaughtered the cat—not that I was a cat. My zodiac animal was different. And the cat wasn't even in the zodiac to begin with.

"Take it easy, man," I said. "You must have heard wrong. I didn't call him that. I just asked a question."

"Well, your question was an insult! Don't ask!"

"You know, I think you might have woken up on the wrong side of the apartment," I said.

"It's called 'the wrong side of the _bed'_, you idiot! And no, I did not!"

"I stand corrected. But say, are you always this tetchy or do you have a grudge against me? You're getting too hyped up."

"Shut up or I'll blow you to bits!" he yelled.

"And he initiates a verbal threat, much like an overprotective father screaming at his daughter's love interest for making her miss curfew after a date."

A fat, throbbing vein immediately protruded from Gokudera's forehead.

"The hell did you just say?"

"That was a joke," I said, flashing him a bright, one hundred watts grin. It did its job at making him grimace.

I have absolute confidence in my smiles. I'm not bluffing. This is coming from someone who has never gotten cavities.

"Ahaha. He's known as 'Dame Tsuna' around here because he's not really good at anything," Yamamoto elucidated. "It's kind of strange, but that's how his popularity works in this school!"

Yamamoto's brief explanation provided the needed clarification.

"Oh, is that so?" I said.

"You damn baseball nut, don't you start!"

"G-Gokudera-kun," Tsuna chided.

Gokudera pointed his finger at me crossly.

"You're a million years too early to be asking questions about the Tenth! Don't think it's okay to get direct and friendly just because you're new," he spat.

_I would love to succumb to your menacing command, but I'm afraid it would be too impractical for me. _

"That's going to be a problem," I replied, stroking my chin in a thoughtful manner. "You see, I like the direct and friendly stuff. It's already rooted deep within my behavior patterns and there's no off switch. But hey, you gotta admit it's better than being mean or antagonistic. The world needs more people who get along, not more interested in tearing each other to pieces."

Another vein popped out from Gokudera's hair, joining the previous.

"Okay. So maybe you don't agree with my views," I added quickly. "That's cool. No harm done; we are all entitled to our own opinions. You go ahead and do your thing and I'll do mine."

_Now, can you please push those veins of yours back into the depths of wherever blood vessels spring from when they're being rebellious? They're starting to turn purple. _

"Are you trying to start something here, woman?" he snarled.

_Not. _

"Nobody's starting anything!" Tsuna exclaimed, tugging on Gokudera's sleeve. "Let's just all wait quietly!"

It seemed Tsuna recognized a necessary change in discussion topics.

"Yea, great idea," I agreed. "Look, we're almost near the counter. I can't wait to get my hands on that yakisoba."

At the word 'yakisoba', they all turned to look at me.

I raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Wait. Miyamura, you're buying yakisoba?" Yamamoto inquired. A hint of skepticism tinted his voice.

"Yea. Best thing on the school lunch menu if you ask me. Is something wrong?"

Yamamoto glanced at the counter and then back at me. There were only two more people before our turn, and I was starving.

"This line is for the bread. The dishes are line number one," he explained, pointing to his left.

_...What? _

I spared a glance at line number one, which was extending rapidly in length as we speak. The students leaving the line were indeed carrying helpings of the fried noodle dish I so hyperactively worshiped no matter how unhealthy.

"Hold on," I started, trying to grasp the situation. "You mean . . . they didn't separate the students into three lines to combat waiting traffic?"

"No. Did you look at the labels on top of the counter? They divide the meals into three categories".

As a matter of fact, I didn't.

"So I'm currently waiting in line for bread."

"Yeah."

"Bread, not yakisoba."

"Uh-huh."

"That's weird."

"Yeah."

"Not good."

"Yeah."

"No kidding."

"Right."

"Would you two idiots stop that already?" Gokudera interjected. It seemed he had no patience for a conversation which consisted of one to two word exchanges that were increasingly making little to no sense at all.

Gokudera scowled at me. "Are you stupid? Who on earth would line up for something without knowing what they're lining up for?"

"Um, Miyamura-san, maybe you should go before they run out," Tsuna offered helpfully.

I cracked a guilty smile...

... and quickly left my line spot.

What's worse than forgetting your money when waiting to purchase something on line?

Lining up on the wrong line.

Sigh.

* * *

**A/N: And they're off on a rough start. But it's okay; we have the rest of the story to fix that . . . probably. **

**An apple a day keeps the doctor away. A review a day keeps the writer in shape. ;) **


	5. Let's Add Stars For Special Effect

**Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyō Hitman Reborn!**

**Thank-you for the reviews, alerts, favs, and clicks! Love you all! =D**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Let's Add Stars For Special Effect**

_Make it . . . _

_Make it . . .! _

_Aww! _

I tried to catch the lead pencil on its eighth revolution around my thumb, but my index finger slipped and went into reverse. I sucked in my teeth as the pencil skated out of my hands, much like a rock leaving a slingshot.

It bounced onto the adjacent windowsill, landing slick in a concave.

How fortunate that it landed on a windowsill, and not on someone's head. When I was first learning how to pencil-spin, I accidentally flicked my pencil onto someone's head. And the owner of said head had sadly been the class rep. And you know you're diving right into hot water when you mess around with the class leader. You almost get into as much trouble as messing around with the school bully.

But class reps are usually talk and not fight, (because they're lawful and understand that physical fighting is not the answer) so I didn't suffer any critical damage.

Nonetheless, attempting to pencil-spin was definitely not proper class behavior. I knew that. I was just too tired to care. Besides, I had always been the type to slip on attentive facades during lectures while secretly roaming in lala land.

I shifted in my chair to retrieve my mechanical pencil. In doing so, I conveniently got a birds-eye view of the school grounds below. I expected it to be devoid of people, since half an hour still remained before school let out. Thus, when a figure clad in black started marching across the gates, confusion seized my features.

My eyes went to the dark jacket casually draped over his shoulders first. I didn't recognize that article of clothing as part of the summer school uniform.

I frowned, casting a gaze at the blazing sun rays overhead. Why on earth did he need a jacket in this weather?

He also had a red armband secured around his upper arm. I couldn't quite make out what was scribbled on it.

_Class is still in session. Is he cutting? _

He soon rounded a corner of the school building and disappeared.

A few seconds later, he strolled across the school gates once again. This time, something yellow had perched on his shoulder. The yellow blob looked like a cross between a chick and a bird.

_And I thought pets weren't allowed here. _

Wait, hold on.

A chick IS a bird. A chick is a type of bird. So how can it be a cross between a chick and a bird? It's already a bird! Or is it? I'm confusing myself.

I watched on in interest as he made swift trips around the school building, one after another. Interestingly enough, he gave off vibes comparable to that a patrolling security guard.

I couldn't think up of any reasons as to why he was circulating around in broad daylight. If he was really cutting, shouldn't he be wandering somewhere more secluded?

Strange kid.

My musings ended quickly when the bell gave its last roar for the day.

I instinctively tore my eyes away from the window and faced the front.

"All right. That is all. Don't forget to review chapters 1 and 2 for homework," the teacher said.

He was trying to sound professional, but the man was packing up even faster than his students.

I had to smile.

In other words, review= NO homework.

Come on. I dare you to deny that that wasn't what was probably going on in every kid's mind.

I rose from my chair, reaching my arms up for a lengthy stretch.

_Dismissal._

_Finally!_

A poorly synchronized chorus of scraping chairs bounced off the walls as the classroom emptied out its prisoners.

I swept up my textbooks in a timely fashion, tossing them in my satchel. My writing implements and purple eraser went next, thrown into a random interior pocket because I did not have the motivation to buy a pencil case.

I finished packing up, aware that I was the only one remaining in the room. The rest of the students had already paraded their way to another universe more fitting for teenage life.

Truth be told, I could be just as quick to dash out that sliding door if I put my mind to it, but I would rather not risk getting stepped on by mobs of mad students.

The screech of my chair being pushed in, however, was unexpectedly joined by a sequence of thudding feet. I glanced up to determine who the owner of those footsteps was. Immediately, an energetic, "Don't worry, Tenth! I'll get it for you!" answered my question.

Tis my second day here and I've only talked with a few people thus far. There was only one person who would nickname his friend 'Tenth'.

Following his declaration, Gokudera barged into the room, strutting toward what must be Tsuna's seat. He rummaged through the desk's lower compartment loudly, rapidly pulling out books and then shoving them back just as fast.

The messenger bag on his shoulder slumped dangerously low while he searched feverishly for something Tsuna must have neglected to take.

This guy can be so lively; his mood swings were really like none I've ever seen. The power of friendship was a beautiful thing; some people will literally turn a one-eighty for their friends. (As demonstrated by Gokudera.)

Friends will go out of their way to do things a normal person wouldn't do for you—like lending you a shoulder to cry on and not demand that you wash their shirt afterwards... Or try with all their might to catch your hand when you're falling off a cliff even though it's obvious the hands won't reach... Or making an effort to visit you during your times of illness even though they have no access to surgical masks for protection against your disease.

Sadly, I could only dream of getting a friend half as passionate as Gokudera.

I sighed, grabbed my bag, and swung it over my shoulder.

"See ya," I said, strolling passed the silverette.

My farewell probably went unnoticed; he returned no response. However, the next event would forcibly push him into generating one.

Just as I was about to turn my back, Gokudera whirled around, a green book clutched triumphantly in his hand. Overwhelmed by his own excitement, he smashed into me.

A sonorous clattering brushed the air. The contents of his messenger bag came pouring out as a result of the collision.

I knew it was hanging at a bad angle. My satchel, on the other hand, was perfectly shut, so it did not share the same fate.

Gokudera let loose a string of curses.

"Dammit, watch where you're going!" he growled, stooping down to retrieve his things.

_Hmmm, I see what's going on. _

_You would be the guy who looked the other way while we were practicing volleyball and got hit. But due to the frustration of not knowing whether to blame yourself for not paying attention, or the person who threw the volleyball for having not paid attention to the fact that YOU were not paying attention, you decided to blame the only other person who was not paying attention other than yourself. _

What a confusing analogy we have just established here.

I offered him an apology regardless; I wasn't the type to blow minor problems out of proportion. I was, after all, a character of lenience.

I bent down to help him retrieve his stuff. That was when I noticed the orange sticks. Long, orange sticks.

Dynamite, perhaps? If live-action television shows served me correctly, they most definitely were.

These were certainly not the fundamentals you'd normally find upon rupturing open a junior high schooler's book bag. My mind started to wander, formulating theories as to why he would be carrying such objects around. I reached for one of the suspicious tubes for a closer scrutiny, but in my distraction, I accidentally knocked heads with Gokudera.

Hard.

The result was an earthquake of dizziness and pain which had the potential of obliterating what little functioning neurons I still had.

But wow, would you look at the beautiful stars?

"Ow!" Gokudera grumbled, promptly shoving me back. "What do you think you're doing? Watch it!"

The uncalled-for motion caused me to fall back against one of the desks before I could even recover from the head crash.

Stars just multiplied.

"Sorry," I said.

I tried to contort my expression into one of apology. However, that little ounce of effort only served to welcome yet another wave of pain into my head. "But if I may ask, why do you carry around dynamite sticks? I mean, assuming those _are_ dynamite sticks."

"None of your business," he barked, gathering up the last of his belongings.

"Kids don't usually carry stuff like that around."

"Don't call me a kid!"

I slapped my head to get rid of the revolving stars and picked up a fallen text he'd missed. The cover was graced with a white name tag, pasted directly on the center. I took a glance at it before holding it out for him. His handwriting was surprisingly neat for someone with such a volcanic temper.

"So, your first name's Hayato." My question came out sounding more like a statement.

Yesterday's _friendly_ game of 'Getting to Know You' in the cafeteria had terminated abruptly without me finding out about his given name. Cheers for today's little follow-up.

"Hayato as in 'falcon', right?" I asked, deciphering the kanji.

Gokudera roughly snatched the book from my extended hand and rammed it back into his messenger bag.

"Hayato. Haya-to." His name sounded strangely like an experiment on my tongue. "Ha-ya-to."

Gokudera twitched. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Not at all. I was just thinking about whether or not the name suited you."

Gokudera did not show any signs of being impressed.

"You've got a three syllable name that sounds similar to 'Hayate'. Similar, but not the same. 'Hayat**e**' sounds like a name someone more soft-spoken would have, whereas Hayat**o** sounds more suited for the rough. What can I say, it's pretty unique," I said.

"...What the hell's with that comment?"

"I was praising your name," I explained. "I meant to say that your name has a really nice touch to it. It was supposed to come out as a compliment."

He shot me a look of incredulity. "As if! Don't say my name in creepy ways!"

I didn't have the chance to reply. With an irritated 'tch', Gokudera turned and exited the classroom.

* * *

**A/N: Personally, I find it fun to use school settings in writing, even though I don't find school that enjoyable. xD Quite the opposite, actually.**

**Review if you can! I love feedback!**


	6. Dodge on the Count of Three

**Disclaimer: I do not own ****Katekyō Hitman Reborn! **

**A/N: H-Hi, fellow readers. T-This is Candybook dropping by with an uneventful update after...an incredibly long time? *hides* I'm super sorry. ;_;**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Dodge on the Count of Three **

Gokudera's footsteps thudded down the hallway and disappeared thereafter.

I leaned my back against one of the desk's metallic legs, sitting there motionlessly for a few seconds. The ticking of the classroom clock blurred in my ears, its minuscule noise maximized by the sheer quietness of a large space without much life. It felt strangely lulling, and coupled with my lack of sleep for the past couple of nights, I felt a sudden urge to doze off right there.

But I knew better than to do that, as it would serve as quite a shock to anyone who might happen to pass by the classroom, and find me in my slumber on the floor. I might be mistaken for being unconscious, or even worse, being dead.

No, I'm serious. It's happened to me before, so I try really hard not to fall asleep in weird places. It's not fun being confused for a dead person and having police officers poke you and check you for a pulse just because you accidentally went off to snoozeland in a telephone booth.

Err... don't worry, I've learned my lesson.

I descended down the steps of Namimori Middle's main entrance, finding myself once again at the mercy of those floating, dark specks of nuisances with evil, beady little eyes.

By now, I'm sure you are already aware that I can't stand mosquitoes.

I quickly shooed them away with a batting hand, grimacing in disappointment when they continued to persist at a two feet radius.

I did not remember inviting them on my journey out of the school building, yet here they were, fluttering creepily and invading my privacy. Why is it that insects always insist on giving you company you don't want? Think about it. Cockroaches, ants, flies, caterpillars, and butterflies. Who likes to hang out with them? Well, I suppose I can make an exception for the butterflies, since they're pretty to look at. On second thought, that would mean I'd need to excuse the caterpillars as well, since they're the UNevolved form of butterflies. Then again, butterflies look pretty from afar but up close, they're kind of creepy too.

It was slowly coming to my conclusion that Nami-Middle must be hiding some kind of suspicious mosquito problem. I believe this speculation was sound enough, given this was the third time I had to deal with these pests.

I made my way passed the school gates alongside a devastating mass of departing pupils. They were divided in pairs and groups, many chatting away and releasing pent-up stress after a long day.

During times like these, it was not rare to find yourself eavesdropping, especially when you were one of the solitary few without anyone to complain to.

I subconsciously listened in on some neighboring conversations. Of course, the conversations of young teenagers typically revolve around the same few topics, so it wasn't hard to guess what everyone was talking about even without listening in.

Girls talking about guys?

Check.

Guys talking about girls?

Check.

Girls and guys talking about schoolwork, plans outside of school, and their personal problems at home?

Check.

Miyamura Yue not talking about anything with anyone while listening to everyone else talk about everything?

_Check._

I rounded a corner, leaving the sea of students as I set foot on a relatively empty street. With a good number of them taking the bus/train off in the opposite route, my lone walk home was predictable.

I enjoyed about five minutes of silent strolling before my vision alerted me on something anonymous dropping from the . . . sky.

I blinked, looking at the ground a few yards away.

A black fedora and a green chameleon.

Wait, no, erase that. A baby _with_ a black fedora and green chameleon.

What an odd sight.

I quickly brushed the image off as an error spurring from imagination and continued onwards.

Or tried to anyway.

Soon, I was immediately plagued by the unpleasant realization that the baby was not my imagination after all.

I'm sure most of you have experienced a time where you were walking on the sidewalk, and you came across another person (well, in my case, it was a baby) who was also walking the same way toward you. You desperately shuffle in the opposite direction to evade your mirroring passerby, only to have them do the same. This scenario usually ends up with you both walking into each other or engaging in an awkward street tango.

Well, my experience happened a tad differently.

It did began with a single round of _'All right man, you gonna dodge to the right or left? Oh no, too late, we've copied each other.'_

However, on the second round, the infant just ceased movement all together. It was very dangerous on his part, I tell you. I almost stepped right on him, seeing as his height barely touched my knees. I didn't though, because at the last minute, he stuck out his index finger and stopped my shoe.

Actually, he stopped me entirely.

A baby just immobilized me with one finger.

Okay, folks. What just transpired on this typical evening?

I tried to decipher the meaning of infants falling from who knows where to stop my bulldozing shoe with one finger, when the very subject of my thoughts spoke,

"Ciaossu."

I cautiously moved back.

"That was dangerous," he said.

"... I'm... sorry?" I responded slowly.

He gave me a wry smile. "Be careful. But since you are apologizing, you can do so by giving me directions."

"Directions?" Bewildered, I contemplated the bizarreness of fedora wearing babies with expressions that were way too old for their faces and strength which was probably not normal according to earth standards.

"I need steps to the nearest costume shop."

During my teenage years in this town, I've been approached for directions by a variety of folks ranging from crying lost children to transcontinental drifters. But this was a baby one fourth my size, possessing super strength, and dressed up like a certified businessman. (And talking like one as well.)

_Costume Shop? _

I wanted to know how you managed to escape the confinements of your crib, stuff yourself in a tux, and wander outside without your parents knowing just where you had disappeared to. And how on earth did you managed to stop me with your finger?

"I'm short on time so I would appreciate it if you'd show me the way."

_Yeah, about that . . . _

Children these days have become so independent and scary!

"Y'know," I began. "It's not good for you to be out here on your own. I think we should get you back to your mom. If you can tell me the address . . ."

"Who are you? I am Lambo! Who am I? You're Lambo!"

I suddenly became aware of a miniature, queer-looking creature bearing horns brushing pass my ankles. I cleverly distinguished him as another toddler, this one with the hobby of dressing up as a cow. He had his head raised in pride as he sang his self-introduction. I must admit, the song contained a strangely catchy tune and I was probably going to hum back to it when brushing my teeth tonight.

Grinning widely, the self-proclaimed 'Lambo' shouted, "REBORN! I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR YOU!"

I did a repetitive neck-turning exercise in which I looked east and west at questionable speeds.

Upon finding nobody other than the infant with the black hat and myself, I presumed that 'Reborn' was none other than him.

I will not get started on how astounding it was to see not one but _two_ self-righteous toddlers roaming the streets without an authorized adult in sight.

The baby in the suit remained absolutely impassive as he asked, "Who are you?"

"It's the great Lambo-san!" Lambo exclaimed.

"Are you supposed to look familiar?"

"It's me! Stop pretending you don't know who I am!"

"Hmm, not familiar in the slightest."

"DIE!"

I gawked in astonishment.

This was quite the supernatural reunion of self-governing children!

I was then forced to witness an unbelievable scene where Lambo pulled a range of _weapons_ out of his afro and pointed them at Reborn.

_Whoa, cool it, kid. How did someone as young as yourself managed to get your hands on those? _

_They are **real**, right? Real like those dynamites Hayato had in his bag . . . _

I know I've mentioned that I supported world peace. So naturally, if one baby is declaring war on another, it would be my unspoken obligation to interfere.

"Hey now, that looks a bit dangerous," I stated the obvious. "It's not safe to wave around pointy objects so how about putting that aw—"

Lambo chose that precise moment to perform a startling, flying leap onto my head, effectively cutting off my sentence. I bowed over involuntarily at this painful gesture while he decided to use my cranium as a convenient stage. Stomping his foot uncaringly on my poor, defenseless skull, Lambo started to publicly announce Reborn's execution.

Note to self: Never mess around with talking babies.

* * *

**A/N:**** I wrote this chapter on a whim after seeing new reviews and readers popping up recently in my inbox. To be honest, I haven't decided what's going to happen to this fic, but hopefully my muse comes back soon. -.-; Though I'll probably be really busy again since it's nearing the end of the year. Anyway, this story's going to be leaning more into slice-of-life rather than hardcore action so it might not be your cup of tea if you like hard action. ^^  
**

**Leave a comment if you can! I do love those and they do help! :D  
**


	7. Laid Back Extraordinaire

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own ****Katekyō Hitman Reborn!**  


**I must admit, it feels weird logging onto my account after months of...not logging in! O_o Real life just took over, and that is why this has not been updated in forever. But that's no excuse! No excuses! So I'll just crawl under the table here and drown in my own irresponsibility...feel free to throw stuff at me! -.-  
**

**This chapter is going to be in the **_**third person point of view**_**. I originally planned to use first person point of view for the entire length of the story, but then I realized there were limitations to that approach. I'm not sure how well this will work out (or not work out at all) but I want to try it out and see how it goes . . . errm . . . (sweat-drops)  
**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Laid Back Extraordinaire**

**(Third Person P O V)**

"Reborn! You've really gone too far this time!" Tsuna fumed.

Another rough morning with unpleasant Reborn-related craziness had pushed Tsuna's tolerance to its limits.

"It's important for me to ensure that you are getting the training you need," Reborn said calmly.

"By splashing honey on me and putting me on a wild bee chase?" Tsuna cried.

"You must learn to adapt to any situation," the infant replied monotonously. "As the Tenth generation Vongola boss, it is my job to quicken your reactions."

"Consider my health first!"

"You should be happy that you got to school on time for once, without the dying will bullet."

"That's not the issue here!"

Reborn sighed. "Your attitude mirrors your nickname impeccably, Dame Tsuna; you have no dignity at all."

"Quit it!"

The two continued their banter back and forth, until eventually, Tsuna felt that Reborn was paying less and less attention to him and more attention on something else. It was when Reborn finally stopped making eye-contact with him altogether that Tsuna stopped his display of hysterics.

"Reborn?" Tsuna questioned. He followed the baby's gaze down the corridors. Someone was approaching them from the other end of the hall.

Tsuna recognized the advancing figure as the new transfer student from a week back—formerly known as the stranger of his unusual run in. He briefly recalled the event, and the sheer ludicrousness of it.

He had been in an uncomfortable spot that time, courtesy of his own clumsiness. As an aftermath, he'd think twice now about drinking and walking. (Drinking water, of course, not alcohol.) A dying will bullet would probably have taken cared of the problem, but unfortunately, Reborn was never there when Tsuna needed him.

So in came Yue, who made one heck of a strange first impression. After all, who in their right mind would walk up to a fight waiting to happen with a relaxed demeanor and a bright attitude? And on top of her external confidence, her plan was merely to 'talk' the way out. The classic, peaceful interference may have worked if she was an intimidating gunslinger like Reborn, or a dynamites expert like Gokudera, but she was neither. Unsurprisingly, the situation concluded with Yue jumping into an abrupt sprint, taking the gang of thugs with her.

Her rescue attempt initially left him hanging, arching his eyebrows. Truly, the Vongola boss did not know whether to simply gawk in confusion and sympathy or feel grateful that she had intervened in his ordeal, despite knowing nothing about him. However, what brought even more eye-opening blinks was her coincidental transfer soon after, and her reason for.

Really, a school on the verge of shut-down?

If Gokudera was any indication to a transfer student's basis, he would sooner expect another mafia-related calamity.

He tilted his head to eye the approaching female.

Yue sauntered across the halls tiredly, her book bag tucked under her arm. Her crooked posture meshed perfectly with her sloppy footsteps.

It was obvious by the heavy bags under her eyes and her ruffled clothing that she had also just finished battling a world war against time. Tsuna mused that said war must have been tough, even if it didn't have anything to do with bees and a merciless home tutor.

Upon noticing him, she offered the boy a lethargic wave. They were too far apart to swap oral salutations without shouting and Yue probably did not have the strength at the moment for vocal cord abuse.

Uncertainly, he waved back. The chestnut-haired boy glanced at Reborn nervously, wondering if she noticed the Arcobaleno. To his relief, the baby was leaning against a pillar by the windows, his presence conveniently obscured.

Yue paused in front of the lockers. She fiddled uninterestedly with the combination lock, turning the mobile center knob clockwise, counterclockwise, and then once more clockwise. Swinging open the rectangular cubicle's door, she withdrew a packet of hand-outs (probably the worksheets that were distributed yesterday during history class) and jammed them under her arm beside her bag.

Her posture maintained its sluggish splendor as she blew a loose strand of hair away from her face. Finishing acquiring her materials for the school day, she turned and began to walk. It might have been the lack of sleep or the fact that she was a klutz, but somehow, she neglected the fact that her locker door was still ajar.

Reborn and Tsuna watched, one in amusement and the other in incredulity as Yue walked straight into rigid metal, her hair rising a few centimeters upon contact.

It was a second later that she stepped back, hissing and fanning her injured forehead. Tsuna expected a sour expression of dismay/frustration when the girl locked eyes with him, but to his utter amazement, Yue gave him a cheesy smile and a shrug.

The Vongola Tenth squinted.

_O-kay...? _

Yue worked on closing her locker door, to no avail. The hinges had apparently decided to freeze, making this simple task unfeasible. Frowning, she gave the gaping metal door a rough yank. It did not budge, stubbornly maintaining its inert state. Mid-way into her game of tug-of-war, her combination lock slipped from its hook and fell on her left foot. The shock caused her to hop in a circle on the unharmed foot she had left. A couple of seconds later, while she was doing her awkward dance, the locker door finally slammed shut of its own accord—right on her arm.

More hissing resulted, this time while holding an injured arm in the air like a prized trophy.

Tsuna sweat-dropped.

"Not the brightest person, is she?" Reborn remarked.

"I-I guess not," Tsuna agreed.

"She has very bad coordination. She almost ran over me on the streets."

"Yeah."

Wait.

Tsuna jerked around.

"Wait, what?" he asked.

Reborn simply rewarded him with an impassive stare.

"You just said she almost ran over you on the streets." Tsuna's facial muscles tightened.

"It's true."

"That means you've met her before."

Reborn's face betrayed no emotion. "Yes. We exchanged a few words as well."

This statement grabbed Tsuna's full awareness.

"Hiiie? T-That's-! Why?" The young mafia leader frantically tried to dissect the information he'd just received. Bells started ringing in his head and suddenly, various newly formulated theories were in question. He blurted, "It can't be—is she related to the mafia after all?"

Reborn smirked. "Don't be silly, Dame-Tsuna. You're being paranoid."

"B-But you just—"

"I was looking for a suitable costume shop and she was merely a convenient passerby I decided to ask."

"That doesn't even make sense! Well, okay, maybe it does. You do constantly show up randomly in strange outfits. But what the heck?"

His eyes trailed back to Yue, who was steadily making her way toward him.

She wasn't even in his proximity when suddenly, the bell rang, signifying the start of class. The sound sailed through the air like a quick signal of looming death.

The two teenagers in the corridor dropped their jaws concomitantly. They had been too busy loitering around to realize the time!

Yue and Tsuna exchanged looks.

A mutual agreement was established.

Without further ado, they both made a mad dash toward room 1-A.

Reborn watched in amusement.

— — — — — —

"Okay, so it appears that Miyamura and Sawada are abs-"

"PRESENT!"

Nezu-sensei's declaration was rudely interrupted as Tsuna and Yue burst through the classroom door, arms rising in unison, wide mouths identical. Their disheveled states provided indication of them possibly having ran a marathon or something of the sort.

The male teacher gawked. His glasses gradually slid downwards as he took in the two latecomers. The rest of the class reacted next, training over sixteen pairs of eyes at the doorway.

Yue and Tsuna's 'We Have Arrived in the Nick of Time' performance was indeed done in perfect unison. Too perfect. All the way down from the exuberant 'Present' to the twin-like movements. On second thought, a closer evaluation would reveal that Tsuna's vocal cords were _noticeably _louder and more effervescent. Yue's utterance, although significantly high in volume, incorporated less of the freakout factor.

Murmurs immediately flooded the atmosphere, spreading from one corner to another.

"Well, look at that."

"Dame-Tsuna has an accomplice today . . ."

"You don't say."

Tsuna blushed. No matter how many times he'd been late, the parade of shame never ceased to embarrass him. Walking into the class tardy meant drawing unwanted attention. The kind of attention involving uncomfortable stares, one of those stares possibly coming from a certain Sasagawa Kyoko.

Yue merely grinned sheepishly and scratched her cheek. She appeared relaxed enough.

"Better late than _never_ late, that's what they always say," Yue said, flashing Nezu-sensei an apologetic smile.

_No, I'm pretty sure it went more like "better late than never,"_ Tsuna auto-corrected her in his mind.

Nezu-sensei threw both of them a sour frown and grumbled something about irresponsibility and Tokyo University and straight A's and prodigious elites and a hidden shoebox. He fixed a trailing glare at Yue and Tsuna as they both migrated to their respective seats.

— — — — — —

Morning began and Nezu-sensei began his lecture on health. The man had set up a projector and was currently in the heart of showing a slide presentation. His monotonous voice droned on and on, every so often heightening an octave or two for parts requiring emphasis. Tsuna fought to keep his eyelids opened. Lectures were incredibly boring. He snapped out of his drowsiness when a light tap landed on his shoulder. He shifted, making a halfway turn.

"Pssst. Tenth, I was worried when I couldn't find you at your house today. As your right-hand man, I was exceedingly concerned," Gokudera said quietly. "But I'm glad to see you're safe. What happened?"

Tsuna sighed. "Reborn was going overboard again with morning training. He sent out a swarm of bees to force me out of bed."

Gokudera rounded his hand into a fist. "That's Reborn-san for you! Always looking out for our Tenth!"

"G-Gokudera-kun..." Tsuna blanched. In his humble opinion, Reborn did anything but.

"In any case, Tenth, I've a question; why was that Miyamura woman with you?"

Tsuna crinkled his eyebrows. "I-It's kind of a long story . . ."

"SAWADA!" Nezu-sensei's thunderous voice boomed. "Even though you were late, you're still talking in class?"

"Hiie?" The short teenager automatically jerked around.

"Sawada, you have a lot of guts," Nezu-sensei bellowed. "Are you trying to tell everyone that you know enough about the digestive system to ignore my lecture?"

"Um, s-sorry!" the spiky haired boy squeaked.

"If you are so set on disrupting the class, why don't you answer my next question?" Nezu-sensei snarled, pointing at the projected human diagram on the blackboard. "Tell us where the gallbladder is."

Tsuna stiffened.

He hated these moments.

Gokudera shifted irately in his chair.

"Bastard . . . singling out the Tenth," the silverette growled under his breath.

"U-Um, the round purple thing on the left?" Tsuna asked uncertainly.

"Incorrect!" Nezu-sensei roared. "It seemed like you weren't paying attention after all, Sawada!"

The instructor ran his eyes across the room, looking for another suitable victim. Black eyes surveyed occupied surroundings, choosing to land on a particular sleepy pupil who, in his opinion, was in desperate need of punctuality awareness. Yue's chin was propped up on an angled palm. Nezu-sensei could tell she was feigning alertness; in actuality, she was probably in Lala land.

"Now, then, let's try Miyamura," the educator said. "Would you please answer this question for us?"

His target looked up.

"Huh?"

Nezu-sensei frowned.

"Don't tell me you weren't paying attention either. Let's have your answer, Miyamura. In fact, why don't you come to the front? Show us where the gallbladder is," the middle-aged man commanded, gesturing at the projected diagram.

Yue's lips formed a thin line. Reluctantly, she bristled, doing as asked. Once in line with the board, she squinted, eyeing the chart as if it were a foreign object from Mars.

"Uh," she began. "I think . . ."

"Yes?" Nezu-sensei urged.

"I think that . . ." she stopped to massage behind her neck.

"Yes, please continue." He crossed his arms.

"Well, this is a really difficult thing to say."

"Oh come on, it's not that hard!"

"Right, so I think that I have no clue."

Nezu-sensei nodded. "Mm-hm. Very good—WHAT?"

Yue returned his expression of disbelief with one of equanimity.

"Yea, I think I don't know the answer to your question."

Silence.

Except it didn't last very long. Soon enough, the entire class immediately broke out into humongous guffaws.

Nezu-sensei glowered. "You came up here just to tell us that?"

Yue shrugged. "But you told me to. You said to come up to the front of the room. What was I to do?"

Somewhere in the third row, a male student snickered.

The middle-aged instructor did not look entertained.

"Are you deliberately sprouting nonsense?" Nezu-sensei screeched, trying hard to remain calm. This was a very strenuous feat, however, as Nezu-sensei was a sensei of extremely short patience. This patience was currently wearing thinner by the second, and Yue's laid back demeanor was not helping it regenerate any further.

"I don't think so. I just don't know where the...gall...what you call it is."

"You are in my health class, and you are expected to learn the material!" Nezu-sensei screamed. What made him especially angry was the look on his student's face. She really looked like she was being serious. "Are you even worried about your future?"

"Okaaay, but let's be honest here. This stuff is probably not going to even be relevant to my future. I'm not aiming to become a surgeon or a pediatrician. And even if I did knew where each organ in my body was, what good will that do? I mean, if I was experiencing huge pain somewhere in my body and I didn't know where it came from, I wouldn't try to diagnose the cause and source of the pain myself...I would go to the doctor! The most sensible thing to do would be to consult a professional."

Red-faced Nezu-sensei opened his mouth to speak when suddenly, a loud roar escaped from the operating projector. The lights flashed on and off a couple of times to signify the presence of a technological difficulty. Or...perhaps it was a malfunction. After a few more blinks, the machine shut down, emanating a burning aroma as it did.

Nezu-sensei growled in irritation. "_Now_ what?" he muttered. The dead machine sprouted more unpleasant gas in reply.

Nezu-sensei bent over to inspect the contraption. He cautiously gave it suspicious pokes. Yue calmly watched from behind, adjusting her crooked watch nonchalantly.

She peered over at him. Her arched brows displayed a hint of curiosity. "Maybe it's dehydrated from thinking too hard, just like I am. How about giving both of us a break?"

Another wave of laughter ensued from the class.

Nezu-sensei shot her a glare of annoyance through thick-rimmed glasses. His mildly wrinkled face flushed red in a mix of anger and absolute distaste.

"Miyamura," he warned. "I'll be careful about what I say if I were in your position. You realize I have control over whether or not you graduate!"

Her lips curled upward apologetically.

"Sorry. But since the projector's kinda...uh... busted, I guess I'll take my seat, sir," she said. Shoving a hand in her skirt pocket, she paced evenly away. She didn't look particularly flustered or embarrassed as she sunk down on her chair, despite the awkward presentation she just exhibited to the class. If anything, her features screamed tiredness.

"Hmmph. What an idiot," Gokudera snorted.

Tsuna blinked.

No doubt about it. She was a strange one.

But it's been a while since someone other than him played the role of the laughing stock.

* * *

**A/N: Anyone noticed that Nezu-sensei is an actual canon character from episode 72? xD The one who threatened to expel Tsuna and co. **

**Anyways, I hope that entertained you all at least a little, but if not, that's okay too. It has been goodness how long!  
**

**As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! I gobble them up like food. :)**


	8. The Vending Machine is a Lie

**Disclaimer: I do not own ****Katekyō Hitman Reborn!**

**Better late than never! I think this chapter is pretty long by my standards. :D  
**

**Mainly Gokudera-Yue interaction in this one.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**The Vending Machine is a Lie  
**

It's times like these that I wonder how people like Nezu-sensei could stand being teachers. Teachers are bound to encounter situations where their patience will be tested, and trust me, where I used to go to school, the kids were not nearly as well behaved as those in Namimori.

I watched as he fumed over the malfunctioning projector, his face turning redder and redder. As the crimson color spread down to his neck, I pondered if I should go up there and fan him to cool him off a bit. However, I thought better than to do that, because I somewhat seemed to be one of the factors contributing to his impending meltdown.

I think he should be more careful before he gets a heart attack one of these days, especially at that age. Guy needs to keep his anger issues under control.

Speaking of anger issues, there is a fellow student in this class that I think deserves an award for his constant bouts of rage.

I, myself, am one of those rare people who possess a very well-controlled temper. It is nearly impossible for me to get outwardly annoyed, much less angry. I'm sure very few people, if any, have actually seen me angry. Even when I *do* by some miracle lose my temper, the worst outcome would simply be my voice raising one or a half octave.

And that would be all.

You can assume that this is due to my experience with karma and its ups and downs—or rather, its various downs and almost no ups.

Karma is cruel that way. Nonetheless, it has contributed to my lenient attitude.

Handling disappointments in a carefree manner is my fort.

So naturally, I cannot fathom why some people would feel the need to shout restlessly. If humans could solve conflicts by comparing who could holler at the top of their lungs louder, then there would be no need for governmental control or even a security unit for the country. Actually, all of the countries in the world would probably not need security units, and even if they strictly wanted them anyway, the number of operating police forces would be minimal.

We could just all hold international vociferation competitions where the loudest guy wins.

Don't get the wrong idea. I don't hold anything against those who lose their tempers. It's unavoidable. Anger is one of the most frequent emotions people feel. I'm the odd one out here for not using it as often as I should. However, when this emotion is shown one too many times (like say, over ten times per day) and is accompanied by straight-out threats involving **orange explosives **that had to have come from somewhere more logically verifiable besides the alternate dimension underneath a teenager's **clothing**, then we have a problem.

The point I'm trying to make is this: Gokudera Hayato, a boy at the ripe age of 14, is a perfect example of someone who does the above and takes it to questionable extremes. He is always shouting at unnecessarily high volumes when things bend just slightly out of his ideals, and screaming to send those who oppose him (or Tsuna) to the afterlife. His aggressive nature has made him impossible for me to ignore.

It's kind of interesting.

So far, he has unnaturally raised his voice an average of eleven times per day, and threatened to blow up objects inanimate and animate alike seven times per day. Our weekly totals (Where is my trusty calculator when I need it?) should add up to around…_fifty-five _times of high quality shouting per week supplemented with _thirty-five_ times of intimidating declarations to end another person's life.

And that's not counting Saturdays and Sundays, the days when he is out of my eyesight.

I think that's pretty impressive in an eyebrow-raising way.

— — — — —

Lunch break rolled by after a few hours of mind-numbing classes. I stretched out my arms as students started piling out of the classroom.

I took out the half of a sandwich I had packed, opting to stay in the classroom to eat today rather than go downstairs to the lunchroom.

After finishing my quick lunch, I made the decision to strode the halls of the school a bit to become even more familiar with the surroundings.

When I had gotten to the third floor, a loud noise suddenly disrupted my self-guided tour.

BAAAANG!

I stopped mid-stride as soon as my eardrums picked up the rumpus (which sounded like a truck getting murdered by a garbage disposal device), coming from somewhere down the school hallway. I listened intently, expecting to catch a repeat of what I had just heard.

Just as I'd predicted, another loud "BANG" vibrated through the empty corridor.

Loud, unknown noises in an empty hallway.

What would the sensible person do in this situation?

Certainly, they would turn around and walk in the opposite direction of the noise, right? Of course, in the movies, the hero and his friends normally go and investigate. They must do that, since they are the main characters. If they don't go and see what is going on, then there would be no story to tell, and the viewers watching the movie would be disappointed. Thus, no matter how dangerous the atmosphere, or how probable it is that they will find something that they would rather not find at the end of that dark, suspicious corner, or behind that shady looking door, they must go and do it regardless, because it is their duty.

Main characters have it hard. They have to run head-first into dangerous scenarios just to keep the story entertaining for the viewers.

Putting it that way, it makes the viewers sound kind of sadistic.

Then again, they're the main characters; they're sure to have some kind of special ability which will enable them to live, even after facing the most ridiculous stunts or treacherous events.

Most of the time, anyway.

I thought about it for about three seconds. Then, like the sensible person that I'm...not, I turned on my heel and followed the direction of the noise.

Indeed, I am aware that my overbearing curiosity can become a bit too much sometimes...

I turned when I reached the end of the hallway, the banging growing increasingly loud and frequent as I did. The sight of a silver head welcomed my vision as I stepped into what I would call a rather secluded corner of the school.

Who at Namimori could have silver hair, is a boy, and would make loud noises?

If you guessed "Gokudera Hayato," then congratulations! That is correct!

You have just won a free ticket for a three nights stay at a beach resort...!

IF this was a game show, that is.

For a while, I just stood there and watched as Gokudera kicked the soul out of one of the school's vending machines. I was amazed that it was still standing with the tremendous force that Gokudera was exerting on it through each strike. It must be made of titanium.

I winced as Gokudera gave the contraption another one of his brutal, I'm-going-send-you-to-Jupiter-and-maybe-even-Neptune kicks.

If the vending machine could cry, it definitely would.

But the fact of the matter was that it couldn't, since it didn't have a voice.

I decided to do the honorable thing, and give it one.

"Ouch…stop kicking me. It hurts." I made my voice as high pitched as it would go.

Gokudera stopped. He rotated his head to face me, his eyebrows raising slightly as he did. I believe he was so caught up in his beating-the-vending-machine session, that he hadn't even realized I was there.

I gave him a sheepish smile, then continued in that same high pitched voice that honestly, in my opinion, was pretty well-done, "Please have mercy, you're giving me a stomach ulcer."

"What. The. Hell," he growled. It was a typical response, and I wasn't expecting anything different.

I pointed at the dent his foot had left on the vending machine.

"That, my friend, would be the vending machine equivalent of a human stomach ulcer," I explained, my voice reverting back to normal.

Gokudera looked at me sourly. Either my voice-acting for the vending machine hadn't been very good, or he just didn't find it as funny as I did.

I'm assuming it's a bit of both.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded. He crossed his arms, adopting an intimidating posture. When he does that, he kind of looks like an authoritarian gym teacher. I suddenly had the mental image of Gokudera in a tracksuit with a whistle hanging from his neck, screaming at his students to run their laps faster.

Hmm. I would definitely not want to be Gokudera's student.

I shrugged, leaning against the wall across from him. The dry paint I felt against my uniform told me that this space hadn't been repainted in a while. Come to think of it, the shade of white on the walls here was a tad different from the one outside in the halls too. "I heard you kicking that thing a mile away, so I came to check out what the racket was all about."

He stayed silent, his eyes still fiercely burning into my own. Then, with a quick twist on his heel, he turned away from me, and resumed using the machine as a punching—excuse me, kicking bag.

"None of your business," he growled.

Huh.

He had responded this way one of the last times I'd asked him a question too.

"I don't think anything's going to come out if you don't put money into the slot," I said, eying the screen that usually displayed the amount of money that has been deposited. It said zero. "Unless you actually crack the glass on the machine…and I don't think that's such a swell idea unless you want to end up having the school charge you for vandalizing their property."

Gokudera grunted between kicks. "Newsflash, idiot. I DID. This stupid excuse for a vending machine ate the Tenth's money!"

_Okay, now our conversation is actually getting somewhere!_

"Tsuna's?" I asked, somewhat confused. "Isn't it yours?"

Gokudera rolled his eyes, setting his foot back down on the tiled floor.

"Did I stutter?" he asked sardonically. "No, you idiotic woman. I offered to help the Tenth with a purchase; obviously, as his right-hand man, I can't let him come up here by himself."

I took a closer glance at the machine. It was one of those which sold snacks, instead of drinks. I was somewhat surprised that the school kept a vending machine in a secluded area like this. I had seen a couple of them in the lunchroom, but those sold drinks. I wondered why the staff had decided to place one here. It was a little inconvenient for the students.

My mouth dropped open when I suddenly saw something on the machine that I hadn't seen a few seconds earlier.

Oh, dear.

Was that what I think it was?

Quickly, I reached over and pulled Gokudera back by the shoulder, ceasing his kicking spree.

"WHAT? Don't touch me!" he snapped.

I shook my head. "Don't look now, but...actually, do look. Look carefully at the machine. There's something there that there shouldn't be."

He just stared at me like I was an escapee from a mental hospital. "Yeah, there's a 'stomach ulcer' on it," he said sarcastically.

"No, not the ulcer. I mean at that corner over there," I said, gesturing to a part of the glass.

He roughly pushed my hand off his person and dusted his shoulder. Despite him being adamant on not heeding to my words, his eyes rolled in the direction I had pointed to anyway.

A deeper frown encompassed his facial muscles as he caught sight of what I was talking about.

"Yeah, I wouldn't kick it anymore," I said. "You've already cracked it a bit."

Sure, the metal portion of the machine may be made of titanium or something like that, but the glass part wasn't.

For a minute, I thought Gokudera was going to agree with me. But apparently, I thought wrong, because suddenly, he whirled around and gave the machine a…_punch_.

I gawked in astonishment.

Surely he could not be thinking that a punch would be any less destructive than a kick.

I did the ethical thing by reaching over, grabbing his shoulder, and pulling him back again.

"Just think about it, Hayato," I began, trying to ignore the annoyance dancing across his restless features.

"Do NOT call me that," he growled. He once more swatted my hand away, crossing his arms over his chest.

I continued to make my point, waving off his complaints. "If you break the machine, you're gonna have to have to pay for it. Just think about how much the compensation for damages would cost you. I am sure it will amount to much more than what was paid for…err…whatever you tried to buy."

"I have to get the Tenth what he sent me to order," Gokudera replied stubbornly. "As his right-hand man, I will not go back empty-handed."

Right-hand man. I really wonder why he calls Tsuna that. I have never in my life heard a friend address himself as a "right-hand man" to another friend. Perhaps I have heard butlers address themselves that way in relation to their masters, but not a friend to a friend. I have never heard a friend call another friend "Tenth" either.

It really was sounding more and more like one of those shows with the Yakuza and the underlings addressing their boss based on what generation the boss had been born into.

"You paid for it and clicked the number of the order, right?" I asked, glancing back towards the machine.

Gokudera scoffed. "Obviously!"

"And you saw that thing you ordered drop?" I asked. I hadn't seen anything caught in one of the metallic coils on the other side of the glass earlier, but I was asking to double check.

He scowled at me.

I think I'll take that as a "yes."

I angled my gaze at the solid-colored area below the glass pane, and said in what I deemed was a good police investigator's voice, "Alrighty. Upon giving this device a thorough examination, and taking into account the physical abuse that it has been forced to endure mere minutes ago, I deduce that the missing item in question is probably stuck in the bottom there." I made a gesture at where I was talking about.

Gokudera rolled his eyes. Yep. Definitely not a fan of my voice-acting. Perhaps I should rethink going into the voice-acting industry. Not that I had ever thought of doing it until this very second, though.

"Which is why I was kicking it," he said, words dripping with irritation. "Can your brain work any slower?"

It sure can, and it has, but I'm guessing I shouldn't tell you that, unless I want you to become even more like an angry animal loose from its cage.

"Let me try something," I said, planting myself in front of the vending machine. I crouched down, and lifted the flap to the opening at the bottom where customers retrieved their purchases. The area was a bit dusty, owing to the fact that this vending machine hadn't been used often.

I carefully extended my hand in, groping around the interiors of the compartment.

Gokudera scoffed after half a minute had passed, and my hand was still hopelessly probing thin air. "Like that will work," he snorted.

"No…wait. I think I felt something," I said, having brushed a finger over a soft, yet sharp edge. I think it must be one of the corners of the snack bag the vending machine had refused to throw up, which consequently forced Gokudera into karate-kick mode.

After around two minutes of me trying fruitlessly to grab a hold of whatever was stuck in there, Gokudera's non-existent patience wore out, and he shoved me out of the way.

"You're useless," he said.

I shrugged, watching as he took over what I had been doing. "Suit yourself."

He shoved his hand and half of his arm aggressively up the slot. His arm was in way further than mine had been.

Way further.

After a while, he stopped moving his arm and shot me a triumphant smirk.

"See? It shouldn't take so long."

He tried to drag his arm back out when he stopped abruptly.

I raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

Gokudera gave another hard tug at his limb. After another yank or two, he cursed in distaste, face growing a bit pale.

"Crap! It's stuck!" he shouted.

"The snack?" I inquired, looking down at his crouched form from my standing position.

"No, moron! My arm!"

"Your—" I dropped my mouth mid-sentence, blinking in surprise.

Oh, boy.

Oh.

Boy.

I bent down to his level, examining the trapped limb in question.

"It really is stuck," I said, somewhat astounded.

Gokudera made a noise of frustration.

"Okay," I said, thinking about the wisest course of action to take to alleviate his state of affairs. Oh, yeah. Some moral support sounds good. "Okay, just stay calm. Deep breaths. Deep breaths." I made calming motions with my hands.

"Damn it! I am not seasick! I have my _arm_ stuck in a freaking _vending machine_," he barked.

Who said you can't take deep breaths and calm down even if you're not seasick?

"Yeah, I can definitely see that," I said. "Yeah, not seasick. Got it. Uh…hold on. Lemme see if I could…"

I cautiously pushed the flap up, in hopes that it might lessen the pressure on his arm, and allow him to pry himself free.

"Does that help?" I asked.

He jerked at his arm. "Not at all!"

I exerted more force on the flap to ascend it even higher, which was difficult to do, because Gokudera's arm was locked in directly below it, leaving little space for movement.

"No! Not in the slightest!" he grumbled angrily.

"Oh, man. This is not good." I ran a hand through my hair. "How did this happen?"

How DID this happen?

This is the first time I've ever seen this happen to someone.

"_You_ happened! This is all your fault!" Gokudera exclaimed. "It was your idea! Do something!" In his agitation, he had involuntarily jerked his arm, and in doing so, he grimaced a bit.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, looking over the small opening to the device in hopes of finding a way to get Gokudera's arm loose.

"I am going to _kill_ you if you don't get my arm out of this contraption of a machine! This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't thought up of the stupid idea of sticking a hand inside the damn thing!"

"I offered to get it out for you, but you insisted on doing it yourself because I was taking too long," I replied. "But you have to admit, my idea kind of worked, since you managed to grab hold of the snack, yeah? Uh…but I didn't know this would happen."

If looks could kill, I would have been dead ten times and buried ten feet below the ground by now, without even having time to get a proper funeral with how Gokudera was glaring at me.

"Miya. Freaking. Mura. You will get my arm out of this machine if you don't want to become a fried corpse in the next minute!"

"Fried? Why fried?" I asked. Oh, wait. He has dynamites up his sleeve…his jacket…his shirt…wherever they come from.

He unleashed an impatient, cannibalistic growl, prompting me to hop to a vertical position because I did not want to be bitten to death at this time.

"I'll go get Tsuna or something," I proclaimed.

"Do that and you're dead," he hissed.

"What's wrong with calling Tsuna?" I asked.

"I can't trouble the Tenth with something like this!" he exclaimed.

I shook my head in disbelief. "I don't really get what kind of relationship you two have. Tsuna won't think it's troublesome. He'll be glad to help."

"I'll kill you."

"I'll go get the janitor or a teacher, then," I said. It would probably be a better idea, anyway. The janitor or teacher would definitely know what to do. Surely they would have more experience getting the arms of kids stuck in vending machines free than Tsuna did, even if Tsuna was the closest thing to Gokudera aside from dynamite.

"I will _not_ have anyone coming here to witness me with my arm stuck in a damn vending machine!" Gokudera yelled.

Err…okay.

So Gokudera had pride issues.

"You'd better be glad this didn't happen in the lunchroom, then," I said. "Otherwise, you would have been the main attraction of the day for the students there."

Hmm, maybe I really was begging for a death sentence from Gokudera with my mouth running recklessly the way it did.

"Get. My. Arm. Out."

I hope that isn't the tip of a dynamite stick that I see coming out of Gokudera's uniform.

Oh, gosh. It _is_.

"Just…just lemme think. I'll think of something," I said, pacing around in a circular fashion.

Then, my feet decided that "circular" was rather repetitive, so it decided to pace in a _triangular_ fashion instead.

After much thought, and having paced in five different shapes (square, pentagon, and rhombus, namely), I was able to construct a reasonable solution.

"I'm going to go away for a second," I announced to Gokudera. "I will get something and come right back, so sit tight."

"You can't just—!"

I dashed off before he could get his sentence through to me.

Contrary to Gokudera's assumption that I had abandoned him (he probably thought that, what with his pessimism about anyone other than Tsuna), I did return.

It took quite a bit of effort, concentration, and stress which required a broomstick and a window-pole being placed at the right angles (don't ask) before Gokudera finally managed to get his arm and the bag of snacks out from the limb-eating device.

"See? Nothing to it." I grinned.

The silverette glared at me as he rubbed his arm, most likely to restore the blood circulation in it, as it had probably gotten numb from being confined in a small space for such an extended period of time.

"This incident never happened," he growled. "You better not mention this to the Tenth...or anyone for that matter. Or else."

I waved my hand dismissively. "Why would I? You really think I would use something like this as blackmail?"

He looked at me, fire burning behind his emerald eyes, as if to say "I dare you to say that again."

"Errr... it won't happen, really," I said dumbly, but hopefully convincingly at the same time. "I do have a question, though. Why do you call Tsuna the 'Tenth'?"

"That's no concern of yours!" He scowled. "Great! That took way too long and break's almost over!" Without missing a beat, he turned and strutted away. I blinked as he made his quick retreat, just like that.

Doesn't waste time at all, that guy.

"You don't like answering personal questions much, do you?" I asked the empty space after all signs of Gokudera had disappeared.

I lightly touched the rusty side of the red vending machine, looking through the glass at the food packages on display. I hadn't had some of these in so long.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that, I guess. We all have things we don't want others to know."

* * *

**A/N: I'll leave you to decide the exact design of the vending machine and how his arm got stuck in there. :D I'll probably make Hibari appear in either the next chapter, or the one after that. For the record, Hibari will definitely do something drastic to the direction the story's heading in. **

**Next update will likely depend on my motivation and time, since real life has been really busy. x.x; As always, please leave a comment if you can; I love getting them! Thanks for reading!**


	9. Coping With A Sudden Ninja Attack

******Disclaimer: ****I do not own ****Katekyō Hitman Reborn!**

**************A/N: Back with an update, somewhat quicker in comparison to last time, I guess! Thank you all for the kind feedback, readers! I am glad to know that this is at least somewhat entertaining. Much appreciated! :)  
**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**Coping With A Sudden Ninja Attack  
**

It happened at around 7:00 AM on a Friday morning...

I had my official run-in with a modern-day ninja, the only of its kind.

I was cheerfully making my way to school and enthusiastically chewing on half of a yakisoba sandwich without really paying attention to the concept of table manners. My mood was relatively good, because for once, I had woken up before the alarm, and actually had ample time to make breakfast. That and tomorrow was Saturday, a break off from the horrors of teachers, exams, lectures, and sleep deprivation.

While I pranced past the park, gracing nearby trees with my uplifting spirits, I spotted Tsuna. Feeling the need to spread the morning cheer, I waved and sauntered over to him.

He politely greeted me with a timid, "Good morning, Miyamura-san," to which I replied with a relaxed, "Hey, Tsuna."

And that was when it happened.

There was a loud crash followed by loud screaming, and when we both turned our startled heads, we could make out something resembling a cheetah dashing at full speed toward us.

Naturally I was confused, and could only stare dumbly.

I vaguely remembered Tsuna squeaking in a shaky voice: "O-Onii-san."

However, before I could pry him for the details, my hand was secured in an iron grip, and suddenly. . .

. . . I was flying!

I kid you not.

I could not feel my legs under me.

As this sudden new character whom Tsuna had referred to as "Onii-san" dragged me along like a kindergartener would fly a kite, I tried with all my might to avoid objects such as lampposts, mailboxes, tree branches, and even people. I might as well be a feather judging by how effortlessly he seemed to be swinging my non-airborne body.

Either gravity had suddenly decided to go on vacation or this person was equipped with monstrous strength.

Probably the latter.

All the while, he was screaming "EXTREME" at the top of his lungs while I was growing more and more concerned about whether or not my joints were going to be separated from their sockets.

It felt like an eternity with no control over my motion at all, before the running and yelling ceased. With swirls for eyes, I fell face first onto hard ground, earning a few gasps and "eeks" from a few spectators who happened to be walking by to witness my spectacular landing.

**"All right, Sawada! We've completed our morning run extreme style!"** the guy who had unconsciously brought me onto a rollercoaster ride from the depths of the underworld shouted.

_What? But I'm—_

It struck me at this very moment that this hyperactive boy had probably meant to take Tsuna on a round of lethal extremeness, not me.

Apparently, he seemed to have realized this too.

"Sawada? Sawada, where are you?"

"Auukyyuu?" I tried to speak, but what came out was a gurgling noise which sounded like a mix between a drunk chimpanzee and a parrot suffering from the flu. In spite of this, I'd managed to effectively grab his attention.

**"EH? Aren't you lying on the ground in an extreme way?"** he bellowed.

I was not given any chance to attempt to talk again, since I was instantly yanked not so gently to my wobbling, temporarily dead feet. I immediately gasped for free oxygen, and slumped against the nearest object for support.

Which was a mailbox.

By the way, the mailbox was not in a solid color like all mailboxes normally are; instead, it had on a polka-dot pattern. However, given my current circumstances as a person with the wind momentarily knocked out of her lungs, I'm guessing that I probably shouldn't be worrying about that right now.

I inhaled.

I exhaled.

I counted my fingers to make sure they had survived Onii-san's intense, bone-crushing grip. Every last one of them mattered, of course, because fingers are incredibly hard to come by. You only get five on each hand at birth, and that's all you'll ever get. No more, no less.

. . . eight . . . nine . . . ten.

Fabulous!

Ten fully functional fingers! (Props to me for creating this awesome tongue-twister. Can you say it ten times really fast?)

I turned to inspect "onii-san." Like Gokudera, he also had the uncommon silver hair, only messier and lighter in gray. A single band-aid was draped neatly across his nose, and gauze strips were wrapped around his forearms. Noting his incredible speed from earlier and the flashy first-aid accessories, the only word my feeble brain could think of to describe him was "ninja."

Why was one present in this day and age?

I thumped my chest to get my breathing patterns back to normal, before straightening from my semi-bent position to match his gaze.

"Onii-san" frowned.

**"You look extremely worn-out!" **he yelled. Indeed, his voice really was excruciatingly loud; hence, why his dialogue has been bolded to better convey the deafening quality of his vocal cords.

He could give Gokudera contest.

"Yea, as a matter of fact, I am," I said back. "But why are you yelling? I'm standing right in front of you."

**"It's called being extreme! Extreme is my motto!"** he roared, hands curled into fists in front of him.

"I thought as much. Sorry for asking, man."

"Onii-san" bore an expression of bemusement, which contrasted the multitude of exclamation points his tone demanded.

"You're not Sawada," he said, his voice finally reverting back to standard volumes.

"Right you are," I replied. I wondered how it was possible for me to be mistaken for Tsuna. The last time I'd glanced in a mirror, my strands of hair did not protrude upwards in spike rotation, nor did I get a few centimeters truncated off my height.

"Onii-san" seemed to be deep in thought as his forehead scrunched up in concentration. I thought he might explain his actions and maybe, just maybe, apologize for nearly ripping my limbs to oblivion, but what came out of his mouth was:

**"So who in the extreme are YOU?!"**

I tried to pinpoint exactly which piece of information he wanted to hear. His question could easily be interpreted in several ways, so I had quite a few possible responses to choose from. Given the present state of affairs, I was skeptical that he'd only want a name for an answer.

"Well," I began, tilting my neck slightly and giving him a lopsided smile. "The name is Miyamura Yue. The occupation is junior high school student. Current status at Nami-Middle is 'Recent Transfer Student'."

_Hey, this sounds like I'm reading something off of a character bio sheet.  
_

I watched his reaction carefully, observing that it was nothing short of blank.

Judging by his vacant stare, my "character bio sheet" must not be very inspiring.

Not that I blame him, for it is rather unimpressive.

"I'm also classmates with Tsuna," I decided to insert, as an afterthought. **  
**

That seemed to bring upon a form of radiance back into his eyes.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, placing his hands on his waist. "I see! I extremely get it now."

I shot him a tired-sounding laugh. "You do?"**  
**

"Extremely!"

"Haha. That's good. You get it." I thought I heard someone telling me to step away from their precious polka dot patterned mailbox as I was currently celebrating Onii-san's successful achievement of "Getting It." I was still not quite sure which part it was that Onii-san "got," but I paid no mind to that.

_Who's to fuss over the small details, right?_

"Well, if you will extremely excuse me now," he said. "I have to extremely be at school." **  
**

I smiled and nodded. "Yea. Of course. You go on your...'extreme' way."

"I extremely suppose so," he replied with a serious face.

A couple of minutes later, I found myself waltzing around the neighborhood which Onii-san had spontaneously got me stranded on, feeling very disoriented.

Is it just my imagination, or have I gotten extremely lost?

* * *

**A/N:** **This chapter is rather short in comparison to the last one, err... but I wanted to at least get something out before the end of this week. So Hibari's official appearance is going to be in the next chapter, which I'll get around to writing. Thank you all!  
**


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